


Cold

by ElfieRae



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassins & Hitmen, Minor Character Death, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfieRae/pseuds/ElfieRae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an Assassin might be the easiest job, but sometimes Sasuke finds that he loses a bit of himself each time he pulls the trigger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Something i wrote a while ago as part of an art trade. I really like the imagery, I should do more of this, but it seems to happen few and far between, or it ends up in rp's >>;;  
> I miss writing osm Sasuke~  
> anyway, thought I'd post it finally pft

 

The soft sound of his steps reverberated into the night, the click of his heals against the chilled pavement the only sound to fall on his ears. The plan was to take his time with this assignment, to be patient and wait for the right opportunity before he made his move.

The gentle snow falling around him made the night seem almost surreal. There were no people out, not at this hour, not in this cold. There was nothing to disturb the silence that surrounded him. Gloved hands stirred in their pockets, being removed to lower the crimson scarf from over his nose and mouth, from his ears that has been warm beneath it’s protection. It was time.

The wind seemed to pick up on this as it began to stir and swirl the falling flakes around him. There was also activity ahead, the distant sound of voices, of laughter that seemed to permeate the air with warmth, brightness, and joy. Yellow blocks of light were cast over the white ground, tarnishing the blanket that laid untouched in his path.

He paused, stilling in his steps. A phone was pulled from his pocket, gloved fingers hovering over the screen before he depressed the send button beneath the illuminated screen. He tucked the phone away then slowly reached into his jacket, removing his weapon.

Laughter suddenly burst through the door in front of him, light lapping at his toes. Dark eyes quickly moved up to regard the man who had just fallen into the cold night air through the doorway. The sound of the heavy wooden door creaking and slamming to a close echoed in the air between them.

“Whadda want man? I’m throwin’ a party here!” The man stumbled forward a few steps, his hand curled around a drink.

“Are you Adrian?” His voice was smooth, dark, and as cold as the ice floating in the water in the bay behind him.

“Yeah, man. Who’s askin’?” the man fumbled to a halt, brows furrowed in confusion.

In an instant his weapon was lifted, his aim perfect. “Orochimaru sends his regards.” The words had no sooner left his mouth before the bullet was released from the end of the silenced gun.

Quickly it tore through skin, bone, and brain matter, the man blinking once, and _only_ once before the snow behind him was splashed in red. Idle fingers released the glass they had been holding, the crystal shattering on the snowy-wet pavement beside his feet.

The man fell to his knees a moment later, mouth agape, eyes wide with surprise. The fresh hole in the center of his forehead released a small dribble of blood before he fell onto his back. The soiled blanket of snow crunched softly as it welcomed him for a moment before it too had its life taken, melting in a quickly forming pool of crimson.

He turned without another word and began walking away, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the fading sound of laughter. The snow seemed to pick up, the wind whipping it around him in rushed patterns. His weapon was hidden again as silence fell around him once more. He slowly reached up to tug on his scarf, to pull the soft crimson material up to cover his ears, to protect his nose and mouth from the cold. A gloved hand slipped into a pocket to retrieve his phone before that same hand was exposed to the cold of the air as he dialed a number.

The line rang twice before it was picked up. “It’s done.” He spoke the words with no emotion, no remorse or sympathy.

There was a pause, “Good work, Sasuke.” The line went dead and he shoved his phone back into his coat pocket.

He would be allowed to return to his home now, to his empty apartment, to wash away the evidence of his deed. He’d have another assignment ready for him when he woke, another trip in the cold, another name to be spoken, another body to be found.

And this was only the beginning.


End file.
